


Requited

by sendal



Series: Improbably Romantic: Clint and Tony [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Clint Needs a Hug, M/M, PWP without Porn, Shmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-22 23:47:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sendal/pseuds/sendal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being rescued from a goddess of fate, Clint's hiding from Tony. Tony wants to know why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Requited

Tony punched down the door to Clint's cell but was immediately distracted by some minions hurling nasty magic. By the time he was through with them, Steve Rogers had freed Clint and Bruce Banner, de-Hulked, had evaluated him for transport to SHIELD Medical.

"He's refusing treatment," Bruce said.

Tony tried to see around Bruce, who was blocking the doorway with his body. It was near sunrise on a wintry day on the bumfuck industrial waterfront of New Jersey. The mammoth stone castle around them had once been a warehouse, but now it had high stone walls and barred windows and rats running along the ramparts. Tony had been awake for at least thirty hours and was maybe a little testy. He hated Asgardian goddesses.

"What the fuck does that mean, ‘refusing treatment?’” Tony asked.

"He has a choice," Bruce said. "He chooses not to."

Clint hadn't been the only prisoner; two women and three men were being loaded into ambulances. SHIELD agents, all of them, suffering from physical injuries, exposure, and exhaustion. Tony had caught a quick glimpse of bandages on their faces. Tony was willing to bet Clint had been similarly mistreated if not worse. Avengers made for big fat targets and Clint was exactly the kind of self-sacrificing idiot to bring attention to himself if it meant protecting others.

Idiot or not, however, Clint was smart enough to get medical attention when necessary. Or had been, until Phil Coulson died and Black Widow went on an extended mission to the worst parts of Eastern Europe.

“I’ll talk sense into him,” Tony said.

Bruce didn’t move. “If you want to be helpful, you can get us a motel room.”

Tony pointed toward the skyline of Manhattan. “I have a building. We all live there, remember? It’s very tall. You can’t miss it.”

Bruce’s gaze narrowed. “I’ll get one myself. We’ll take a cab.”

Steve, who’d been off conferring with the police and FBI, returned across the moat and immediately agreed that somehow a seedy rundown motel room was better for Clint than a hospital or Stark Tower. Tony started to wonder if maybe they’d been doused with goddess lunatic spray. But once they helped him upright and wrapped his shivering form in blankets, Clint was able to limp along on his own. He kept his hands pressed to his face, hiding his expression.

“Katniss, you’re weirding me out,” Tony said.

“Some things aren’t about you, Tony,” Steve said firmly.

Of course Tony wasn’t going to let them go shack up in some meth-hole where reporters and gawkers would hang out in the parking lot. Pepper booked them into a ritzy apartment suite in Jersey City with great views of lower Manhattan and dispatched a town car to take them there. She also arranged for an escort from the loading dock to avoid publicity and photographers. Tony watched from a nearby roof to make sure they had no problems, then zoomed back to Stark Tower to shed the suit and eat breakfast.

“Why didn’t they come back here?” Pepper asked from Tony’s kitchen island. It was a Sunday morning, which meant she could rule over Stark Enterprises barefoot and in yoga pants, no shoes or power outfits.

“Clint got shy,” was all Tony could think to say.

He crashed into bed for a few hours, but worst-case scenarios kept him from sleep. Maybe Clint had been sexually assaulted. Maybe he’d been disfigured. Bruce had requisitioned medical supplies from Pepper but they were basic first aid items: gauze, acetaminophen, rubbing alcohol, antiseptic, bandages. Tony replayed the memory of Clint’s worn stance, the slump of his shoulders, the way he wouldn’t show his face. He decided to hack into the medical records of the SHIELD agents who’d been rescued to see if he could get a clue from them, but a stern pop-up window from Pepper reminded him that he’d promised not to violate HIPPA anymore, even with the best of intentions.

JARVIS said, “Captain Rogers has returned to his quarters, sir. He’s requested not to be disturbed for the rest of the day.”  
Of course, that was Tony’s cue to go downstairs and immediately pester him about Clint’s condition, Bruce’s secrecy, and what the fuck was going on over in Jersey City.

Steve poured himself a large glass of milk. “If Clint wants to tell you, he’ll tell you himself. Don’t ask me to betray a teammate’s confidences.”

“It was that crazy goddess, wasn’t it?” Tony asked, pacing Steve’s kitchen. “We should have smote her into tiny little Loki-wanna-be pieces.”

“Skuld has considerable powers. They’ll punish her back in Asgard.”

“I’ll punish her myself if she’s fucked up our Legolas.”

Steve paused with the milk halfway to his mouth. “Are you speaking professionally or personally?”

“What’s the difference?” Tony asked, and poked at Steve’s sad little coffee maker on the corner of the counter. “Do you ever use this thing? It’s going to die from neglect.”

Steve said, carefully, “You’re not dating Pepper Potts anymore.”

“That’s a nice way of saying she dumped me,” Tony replied.

“Because she thought you wanted someone else?”

Avengers were just as bad at gossip as little old ladies at church socials. Tony was happy to hear any rumor or tidbit as long as it didn’t involve himself. His and Pepper’s romance had been a disaster heading for tragedy, but their professional relationship was stronger than ever.

“There’s no one else,” Tony said sullenly. “I’m not even looking. I’m joining the Celibacy Advocacy Center of New York. Happy?”

“Skuld is a goddess of destiny,” Steve said, and wasn’t that apropos of nothing? Tony didn’t believe in any force of destiny other than his own free will, and anyone who believed that crap needed to have their head examined.

Suddenly tired, and completely ready to go back to bed, Tony asked, “What’s your point, Captain Tight Pants?”

Steve gazed past Tony to the blank wall behind him. “She can see into the hearts of men and unearth the secrets that shape their destiny.”

“Rubbish.” Tony snorted. “You’re telling me she uncovered Barton’s fetish for wearing women’s underwear?”

Steve’s face turned pink. “His what?”

“I’m making it up. Spill the beans, Rogers.”

Steve washed his glass in the sink and avoided Tony’s eyes. “The other agents reported that she wrote their secrets on their faces with some kind of indelible magic ink. The doctors trying to figure out how to get it off.”

Tony stared at him. “What does Barton’s face say?”

“He won’t let us see,” Steve said, a little sadly. “But maybe you should go ask.”

That made no fucking sense at all. Tony retreated to his bedroom, crawled under the silk sheets, and brooded. It wasn’t as if he and Clint were close friends. They hung out together sometimes, and worked well as a team, and there’d been a couple of nights Tony had passed out on Clint’s sofa after the break-up with Pepper, but that was just normal teammate stuff. Sure, sometimes Tony caught himself looking at Clint’s ridiculously toned arms and ass, and maybe once or twice in the shower he’d jerked off to a fantasy or two about Clint in his bed, but Tony fantasized about everyone: he had a recurring one about that ice queen Maria Hill, and once almost commissioned a blow up doll of Nick Fury. As a joke. Mostly a joke.

Sunset came early in winter, and Tony was still dog-tired when he woke to the night glow of the city spilling through his windows. He got one of his chauffeurs to fire up the silver ’58 Bentley, stopped at his favorite pizza joint, and brought two steaming boxes of deep dish across the river. Bruce looked famished and grateful at the unexpected delivery. The door to Clint’s bedroom was closed.

“Nice view,” Tony said, eyeing Manhattan across the wide divide of the Hudson. The suite was okay enough for a thousand bucks a night. “How’s Merida?”

“He doesn’t want company,” Bruce said, settling at the kitchen counter.

“He’ll want a slice of Luigi’s,” Tony predicted. “I’ll bring it in there.”

Bruce moved fast enough to block the door. “Quit it, Tony.”

“I want to help.”

“You’ll help by staying out.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Tell him I don’t care if some screwy chick wrote a bunch of graffiti on his face. He can keep the lights out if he’s embarrassed. I have something I need to tell him.”

Bruce hesitated. Stared at Tony, as if trying to divine his true intentions. “Stay here,” he said, sighing, and went into the room by himself.

A few minutes passed. Tony considered climbing out on the patio and going through Clint’s window. Finally the door opened again and Bruce let him in with a stern, “Don’t be an ass, Tony.”

The bedroom was small and sleekly modern, lit by a sliver of light from the bathroom. Clint was sitting up in bed, safe in shadow, his voice weary as he asked, “What do you want, Stark?”

“I brought you pizza and garlic bread,” Tony said, trying for insouciance. “I’m ignoring how much you hurt my feelings by not coming home today.”

Clint stayed silent.

“Also, I heroically resisted hacking into SHIELD medical records to find out what that bitch goddess did to the other agents, but apparently it involves a magic Sharpie and some made-up shit about secrets and destiny.”

“Something like that,” Clint said, his tone unreadable.

“Here’s the thing, Arrowhead. I don’t believe in destiny, I don’t believe hokey magic is anything other than a cheap Vegas floor show, and I think you’re an idiot if you think I care about random graffiti on your face.”

Clint moved slightly. “It’s not random. It’s the truth.”

He sounded tired and fragile in a way Tony hadn’t heard since Coulson’s death. Tony moved to a chair by the blackout curtains and sprawled in it, fingers laced over his belly. He could wait all night, if necessary.

“It’s stupid shit but it’s the truth,” Clint said, “and I’d appreciate it if you went away, because it’s been a long week.”

“Give me three guesses, and if I’m wrong I’ll leave,” Tony said. “Guess number one: she wrote that your heart was broken when Coulson died. Heads up. We all get our hearts broken. That doesn’t mean never loving again.”

Clint tipped sideways on the bed and pulled a pillow over his head. Not the most encouraging response.

“Okay, guess two,” Tony said, improvising. “You’ve got a thing for Black Widow and sex toys and golden showers. Which, by the way, ew.”

“Get out,” Clint replied.

“That was only two!” Tony stared hard in the darkness. His mind went blank, so he let his mouth kick into gear. “All right, beat it out of me, I don’t have a third guess. But this morning, when I heroically came to rescue you, I was terrified that we were too late and you were dead. How’s that for honesty? You’re alive and back with us, so stop being a wuss about it and come get some pizza.”

Clint’s hand snaked out from under the covers and flipped Tony the bird.

Tony was ready for that, though. He moved to the edge of the bed and caught Clint’s hand in his own. Clint didn’t punch him or pull away. Tony said, “Whatever she wrote, it’s shit. You still feel bad about it tomorrow, and I’ll get you a purple mask. It’ll match your vest.”

“I hate you, Stark.”

“No, you don’t.” And with a confidence he didn’t feel, Tony turned on the bedside lamp.

In the warm yellow glow, he saw bruises around Clint’s wrist from the chains that had held him down. Felt the dry, rough skin of his arm. Tony said, “I’m going to take this off,” and slowly moved the pillow aside.

Clint’s eyes were closed. They were ringed by dark circles and he had a nasty bruise on his right temple. Skuld’s black ink covered his cheeks and chin and forehead, each word a different size and style and damning: _unloved, unworthy, liar_.

The largest word was _unrequited_.

“Huh,” Tony said, his heart pounding. Mind made up, he bent down and kissed Clint’s lips briefly, just a sweet taste and touch of tongue.

Clint’s eyes flew open. “What the fuck?” he asked, but didn’t move. Their faces were only inches apart, close enough that Tony could memorize every fine detail of Clint’s hazel eyes.

“She’s a liar, ” Tony said. “She’s a fucking liar who fucking lies. You are worthy and loved and requited, if that’s even a word. By me. And if I’m not good enough for you, someone else – ”

He didn’t get to finish the sentence, because Clint surged up off the pillow and kissed him back with an intensity no man should have after a week’s captivity. Tony tumbled onto the mattress with an armful of enthusiastic Avenger and happily spent the next several minutes proving his words true with kisses and caresses, but nothing more because Clint really was banged up, and exhausted, and had spectacular bruises across his chest and down his abdomen.

“Does this mean you’ll come home?” Tony asked.

“Tomorrow,” Clint said. “After about twenty hours of sleep.”

“I could sleep here with you,” Tony suggested.

Clint yawned. His head was on Tony’s shoulder and he already looked half-asleep. “You’d be distracting.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You’ve been distracting me for months,” Clint murmured. His eyes closed. “Your ridiculous puppy dog eyes and tight shirts and when you smile. Drives me nuts.”

“Good,” Tony said, pleased.

The door opened. Bruce observed them in the tangle of sheets and said, dryly, “So, no pizza for you two?”

Clint snored. Tony kissed his forehead and said, “There better be some slices for me. He can have his for breakfast.”

“Good job getting rid of the magic ink,” Bruce offered.

Tony looked closely. He hadn’t even noticed the words fading away. He almost woke up Clint to show him, but figured they could celebrate enthusiastically in the morning. Maybe with a blowjob.

“All it took was some honesty, which I’m known for,” Tony said, and couldn’t figure out why Bruce laughed.

The end

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Any feedback greatly appreciated. Usually I'm a Clint/Phil girl but Tony wanted this one.


End file.
